Chapter 83: This Is Not a Trap

Deep within the ship, Marn Sevil, until now cloistered in his cabin, felt the vibration. For the first time of his own volition, he stepped out. His eyes scanned the hallway walls. He still didn’t speak—but he knew how to fight.

A maintenance hatch. A tactical compartment.

He ripped an energy spear from an emergency rack.

He wasn’t just a scientist. He was Voldarian.

In the cockpit, Evelyn worked the tactical interface with sharp, fluid motions. Countermeasures deployed. Shields up. Decoy bursts launched. Rear thrusters adjusted.

Vykhor stood ready, straight as a blade, his prosthetic glowing. The veins in his right arm pulsed with energy. He took aim. Every movement was surgical.

“Contact in three… two…”

The enemy fighters burst into view.

“Welcome to my turf, bastards,” Zeynn hissed—and pulled the trigger.

The starboard cannon roared.

The right interceptor exploded in a flash of flame, a direct hit to its engine joint. The cockpit lit up.

“Boooom! Did you see that, Vykhor?! DID YOU SEE THAT?!” Zeynn shouted.

“Focus, Zeynn,” Vykhor replied, unfazed. But a flicker of approval lit his gaze.

The second ship swerved, firing at Zeynn’s turret. Evelyn shouted—

—but the shot was intercepted, deflected by a sudden electric pulse...

…triggered by Marn Sevil.

On the secondary screen, Evelyn spotted him—stoic silhouette, spear in hand, standing beside a side panel. A spark of wild determination in his eyes.

He had done his part.

He couldn’t speak. But he could fight—for her.

When the final fighter disintegrated in a silent fireball, Vykhor powered down the defense system. His golden eyes flicked to the screen where Zeynn was still cheering in his turret.

“Kryna?”

“No critical damage. Shields stable. No boarding possible.”

Zeynn cracked his knuckles. “So, can I make a sandwich now, or does anyone else wanna play sabacc in zero-G?”

Vykhor said nothing. Evelyn laughed softly.

And Blue, from the corner, sneezed loudly, casually sealing their victory like a feline punctuation mark.

The command room of the Narak’Tharr settled into quiet again, save for the hum of power cores and the flickering of control panels.

Vykhor stood with arms crossed before the central display. His prosthetic pulsed slowly, like it, too, was catching its breath. Evelyn sat on the edge of the mission table, rubbing soot from her sleeve. Zeynn lounged with his feet on a dead console, spinning a tool in his fingers with pride.

Marn Sevil remained in the background, leaning against a bulkhead. Still silent. Still watching. No longer a stranger, not quite trusted either. Just… a silent anomaly.

“So,” Zeynn finally broke the calm, voice smug, “can we talk about how I saved all our collective butts now, or do we wait for the official mission report?”

“You did what was expected,” Vykhor replied without looking.

“Is that… a compliment?” Zeynn muttered, smirking anyway.

Evelyn wasn’t listening.

She was examining the very case Marn had brought from Hadrell-7—the one she’d already inspected. But now she understood.

It wasn’t Marn being tracked—it was the case.

She slid open a slim side panel, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, a beacon, no larger than a blade, blinked slowly.

“Found it,” she said.

Vykhor turned.

“Disable it. Now.”

Without replying, Evelyn used a multitool to slice the core circuit. The signal died instantly. Kryna confirmed:

“Biometric beacon neutralized. No further transmissions detected.”

Vykhor nodded slowly, then turned to Marn Sevil. No words. Just a look. One that said: one more surprise, and I’ll toss you out the airlock without a suit.

Marn held his gaze, unmoving. No defiance. No fear. Just acceptance. He didn’t apologize. He had no right.

Zeynn groaned dramatically. “Awesome, so now that no one’s tracking us, can we jump already?”

Vykhor pressed a control. The nav system pulsed to life.

“Coordinates locked,” Kryna announced. “Initiating hyperspace jump in five… four…”

Evelyn took her seat beside Vykhor. Zeynn slouched in his chair. Marn stood silently at the back of the room.

“Jump engaged.”

The Narak’Tharr tore into space like a steel arrow.

A team. A pack. A family still forming.

And one man carrying truths too heavy to remain silent forever.

When they emerged from hyperspace, the void was unusually calm.

Too calm.

Kryna broke the silence, her voice too neutral to be comforting.

“Unidentified object in dead orbit. Distance: 142 kilometers. Stable drift. Weak residual emissions.”

Vykhor narrowed his eyes. “Origin?”

“No known signature. Old Lyrien-class civilian transport. Propulsion offline. Nav systems non-functional.”

“Let it drift,” Vykhor said, already preparing a new course.

But Evelyn, eyes locked on her console, frowned. A faint alert flickered—an ancient, looping audio signal.

“…to any ship in range… this is Calyptus 7… AI malfunction… majority of crew is… we need help. static… if you hear this… please…”

“We need to check it,” she said.

Vykhor slowly turned to her. “No.”

Zeynn raised a brow. “Seriously? After all this, you wanna stick our heads into that mess?”

Evelyn inhaled deeply. “There may still be survivors. It’s not a warship—it’s a civilian transport. The signal’s old but still running. We have to at least check.”

“Or it’s a trap,” Zeynn muttered. “Next thing you know, we’re split up in a haunted corridor, chased by an AI that thinks we’re cheese.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Evelyn murmured.

“Because I have survival instincts!”

Vykhor let out a low, resigned growl. He stared at Evelyn, long and hard. Her gaze didn’t waver.

He already knew he would give in.

Because it was her. Because when she said we have to, he always ended up saying fine.

He rubbed his face.

“Kryna, scan the ship. All accessible areas. We’ll dock at the edge. Prep a shuttle and keep a direct link to the Narak’Tharr.”

“Understood. Note: marking this mission under ‘terrible idea probably initiated by Evelyn.’”

“Authorized,” Vykhor muttered.

Zeynn groaned. “If this AI tries to hug me, I’m jumping out the airlock.”

Blue yawned loudly at their feet.

“Zeynn, grab a med kit. Evelyn, stay close to me. Blue, stay alert. Kryna, if we’re not back in two hours, burn that thing down.”

“With pleasure,” said the AI.

The trio moved toward the airlock.

Marn Sevil watched them go.

He wasn’t joining. Not this time.

The madness of a ghost ship wasn’t his concern.

But for the Kael’seth pack, a new door was opening. Dusty. Creaky. Possibly inhabited by something that had spent far too much time… alone.